I walked back into the main living room, holding my shoulder bag against my ribs so the hard plastic sample container inside wouldn’t clink against my keyring.

Daniel was sitting on the low grey leather sofa near the floor-to-ceiling windows, scrolling through an investment summary on his tablet with a low, rhythmic hum in his throat.

“Daniel,” I said, stopping three paces from the edge of the woven wool rug.

“Who were you speaking with in the hallway at two in the morning?”

He looked up from the glowing screen, resting the tablet flat against his thigh.

“Just an anxious client, darling.